


dress up

by clayisforgirls



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 16:58:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4357118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clayisforgirls/pseuds/clayisforgirls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not even spending the whole day with Tommy, not even laughing and joking and downright flirting when they're our of hearing rage, none of that makes up for the fact that he looks like someone from a hundred years ago.</p><p> </p><p>At some point, Tommy and Marat dressed up in Victorian era clothing for the ATP. And fic was born. Originally posted in May 2006.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dress up

He already hated the clothes.

They itch and they're uncomfortable and he's starting to wish he'd never agreed to this. Not even spending the whole day with Tommy, not even laughing and joking and downright flirting when they're our of hearing rage, none of that makes up for the fact that he looks like someone from a hundred years ago. Which he knows is the point, but it doesn't make him feel less stupid.

"The clothes suit you," a voice comes from behind him, one he knows almost as well as his on. "Of course, you look better out of them."

"You would say that," he says, laughing, and strong arms wrap around his waist, kiss pressed to a bare bit of neck as Tommy rests his chin on his shoulder. "I look stupid. It's a stupid outfit. Why did I think this was a good idea?"

"I gave you a blowjob. You're easy, Safin," and it's said with a smirk, another kiss pressed to his neck, and he doesn't reply to it. He knows it's true, can't deny the fact that he hasn't quite learnt to say no to his sort-of-boyfriend, although lovers might be a more appropriate word, especially dressed like this.

"We look like we belong in the eighteenth century," he mutters, pulling away from Tommy, adjusting his cap until it's straight again, noticing for the first time that Tommy's still only half dressed, shirt still unbuttoned. "I feel like an idiot."

"But a cute one," Tommy says between chuckles, putting on an appalling fake British accent. "Come along Mister Safin, I think our carriage awaits us. Mustn't be late."

"Your shirt's unbuttoned," he offers helpfully as he steps towards Tommy, taking the shirt between his fingers and doing them for him. "I'd rather be undressing you, you know."

And Tommy smirks, kisses him, hands in now shorter curls, cap on the floor again, sucking on his tongue and when he pulls back he's gasping, suddenly hard, eyes glazed over.

"Afterwards, I'll fuck you in the costume... or," and the accent's returned, "I will have my way with you. Whichever you prefer."

And he's laughing as he picks up his cap, walking towards the door with Tommy, letting him out first, and he can't stop because this is possibly the most ridiculous thin he's ever done, probably the most ridiculous thing he'll ever do. But it's for Tommy, and as Tommy grins as him, straightens his cap for him before they step out into street, it's all worth it.


End file.
